


Continuation

by periferal



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Banter, Emotional Constipation, Felix Is A Little Shit, M/M, References to Canon, Season 14 Spoilers, Slash Goggles, Terrible Jokes, That Is Then Forgotten, friendship?, references to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7581715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/periferal/pseuds/periferal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random bit of ridiculousness set post-Consequences.<br/>Everyone is very tired, Locus definitely is good at this whole human thing, and post-fighting banter is how these people flirt, I guess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Continuation

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this via phone, so apologies for any formatting weird I don't catch.

“He knew she exists.” Mason is standing hunched over the sink in the makeshift bathroom of their hideout. Sam watches him from the doorway as Isaac gives him increasingly desperate looks.  _ A little help here?  _ he mouths. Sam shrugs. There’s nothing either of them can do except watch their partner work through this revelation. And anyway, he’s worked with Isaac long enough that the guy should know that Sam is about as comfortable with emotional bullshit as a dog is in space.

Mason looks fucked up. Not the same kind of fucked up Isaac looked that one time he came stumbling into Sam’s apartment ( _ “How do you know where I live?” “You told me one time- r-r...remember?") _ obviously coming down off something badly made and probably half gasoline, though. That kind of fucked up is easy enough to deal with. Just watch the person to make sure they don’t drown in their own vomit and you’re good. Mason, meanwhile, looks like he feels like he should be about to throw up but can’t bring himself to it. That must be a fun emotion.

“So much for being able to walk away, then,” Isaac says after giving Sam one last despairing look. “I guess you’re stuck with us.

There’s the sound of metal clanging as Mason kicks the pipe going from the base of the sink to the floor. He turns, his expression as blank as it ever is. “That’s what got me into this mess in the  _ first place _ ,” he forces out, eventually, but Sam can already see most of the rage dissipating. “Ah, fuck,” he finally says, shaking his head. “What puppy did I brutally strangle in a past life to end up here?”

“A monstrously cute one,” Isaac declares, letting out a definitely exaggerated sigh. “You done?”

“Oh come on, can’t I have at least a little more time to have a good and healthy panic about the safety of my loved ones?” Mason’s mood has lightened again somewhat, though Sam can still see a minor undercurrent of worry, just in how tensely he’s carrying himself. 

“Nope.” Sam decides to finally interject, which causes Isaac to over-dramatically throw up his hands a mock go as if to walk out of the room.

“So  _ now _ you can talk,” he declares, which just makes Mason smile. Sam puts on his best ominous grin just to make Isaac roll his eyes again. “What am I going to  _ do _ with you?”

Sam shrugs. 

“Anyway, thanks for the moral support you guys,” Mason deadpans, “seriously,” Isaac smiles at him ‘innocently’, “but I should be heading home, now.”

“Oh come on, you’re no fun, you should get some “hey, we’re not fucking dead and shot into space!” drinks with us first. And I have that club girl Ortez stole me away from to check back up on!”

“She’s going to be long gone,” Sam points out, ignoring Isaac’s irritated “Exactly!” as he stretches his shoulders until he hears the joints crack. “I’m going to stay here until tomorrow. Keep watch. Maybe sleep.”

“Paranoid much?” Isaac mutters, but as the three of them (finally) leave the bathroom and all gather loosely in the sort of kitchen (it’s really just a microwave, a sink, two plug-in burners, an impressively beat up fridge and a few shitty cupboards, but whatever) it’s only Mason who’s gathering his stuff to leave. 

“I don’t see you going,” Sam finally says, and the shrug Isaac gives him is the most honest he’s been since the whole partners moment they’d had just after that fight. 

“I’m not sharing rooms with you,” Isaac declares as he goes off towards what’s basically his room. It’s not like they were ever officially designated, but it’s the room nearest to the front door and that’s where Isaac planted himself the first time they arrived here. 

Sam’s room is closest to the interrogation room. He doesn’t think too much about the implications of that. 

“I didn’t say you should,” he replies, “that would just be odd of you.”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe I’m just feeling  _ unusually close _ to you after that near death experience, or something.” They’re now calling to each other from different hallways, and this feels almost- nice. 

Sam suddenly remembers a much more panicked Isaac, flipping out at him over something he’s done again tonight, or, Sam supposes, last night at this point, without any sort of commentary from Isaac. “I shot Gabriel,” he calls, “you’re not freaked out about it.”

Isaac goes back to the kitchen, grinning at him as he grabs a beer from the shitty fridge. “I dunno man,” he says as he twists the cap off the bottle, “I guess I’ve just gotten used to it.” He tilts the bottle towards Sam before taking a sip. He grimaces. “Man this stuff is shit. Anyway, I guess I’ve gotten used to the idea that you’re utterly preposterous.” Apparently, he’s forgotten his original course set to his room. It is day now, but both of them are acting like it’s closer to evening. Maybe it’s just been that long of a day. 

That there are no windows in the kitchen doesn’t help anything. 

“Preposterous?” Now that’s a word Sam hasn’t heard applied to himself before. 

Isaac shrugs again, “Yeah, sure. And I can trust now that you’re not just gonna pull a bullet through my head,” he says, “and anyway, I’m definitely not as much of a sleazeball as that guy. Fucker had it coming, even if it did sorta complicate things.”

“Made a useful place to put a bomb at least,” Sam says, deciding that he’ll grab something to drink, too. Not beer, no, he’s got enough experience of himself on any kind of substance not to even try risking it, but having something to drink would be good. He realizes, somewhat distantly, that he hasn’t actually  _ eaten _ in hours. 

“That’s just the tiniest bit dark,” Isaac answers easily. They’re falling back into that banter again, which is remains worryingly nice. 

Sam grunts in reply and goes to the nearest cupboard to scrounge out some food. Oh, great, some of the ridiculously sugary cereal Isaac likes, a pathetic couple of apples and a pile of ramen. Obviously Mason hasn’t restocked in a while. Sam grabs the cereal, ignoring the ramen and apples. It is technically morning, after all. 

“We have milk?” he asks as he opens the fridge. 

“A carton, at least, I was more focused on the beer.”

“The shitty beer?” He grabs the carton and places it on the counter, before rooting around in the other cupboard for a bowl. “Do we have drawers?”

“Yes, the shitty beer,” he can hear Isaac’s sigh, “and nah, utensils are under the sink. Least that’s where I stuck ‘em last.” 

“Efficient.”

“Oh, you know, the glamourous criminal lifestyle and everything. We can’t put our utensils in drawers, that would be civilian.”       

“Obviously.”

“Obviously.” 

Over the course of this conversation, Sam has managed to pour cereal into a bowl, after finding a bowl and a spoon (which was in fact, under the sink). He then pours milk into the bowl, and manages to replace everything where he had taken it from. Operating on little sleep and the crash from adrenalin are skills he’s picked up over the years. 

Isaac is grinning when Sam turns around, now concentrating entirely on eating. “What?” he asks with a mouthful of cereal. 

“You have a nice ass.” Isaac manages to say this tonelessly enough that Sam almost laughs. He doesn’t, however, because he has some measure of self control, unlike  _ some _ people. 

“What is  _ wrong _ with you?” Sam asks, “I am not awake enough for this.”

“Everything, and on that note I’m going to go to bed!.”

“Oh fuck off, and it’s like. Seven. In the morning.”

“I don’t know about you, but I was just fighting for my life. So, sleep. Good morning,” Isaac says brightly, before  _ waving  _ and heading off again in the direction of his room. 

Sam won’t admit it, but he definitely laughs a little after Isaac is safely out of sight. His partner really is a little shit.  


End file.
